Abstruse | H.S.

Chapter Twelve

TRIGGER
mention of sexual assault
sexual content

I couldn't sleep.

I mean, I was very much tired; but I was too scared to fall back asleep.

I don't want to fall asleep and risk having a continuation of the nightmare before, because I knew I wouldn't be able to shake out of it in the morning.

I need to remind myself that I am not home, and that I can't sleep. It's not an option.

I'm not sure how long I was asleep for before Harry woke me up, but it couldn't have been more than a couple hours, so at least I wasn't going without sleep entirely. It's already about 4am, it was a very long night tonight and I'm sure I'd be okay in the morning and I'd be able to fall asleep in my own bed by the time tomorrow evening comes around.

I just laid here in the oversized shirt Harry had brought me, I didn't have anything on underneath considering the mess there was in my underwear, it was too uncomfortable.

The only thing that sucked more than falling asleep and reliving my worst nightmare; was forcing myself to stay awake and do nothing but drown in my own head; something I still couldn't understand.

All I could think about was my aunt. How broken she was. How shes managed to stay alive and not plummet into a pit of nothingness, shocked me. She was by far the strongest person I know. Having to care after my psycho of a mother for half her life, and having to take me in as one of her own; I admired her and how composed she is. I can never imagine myself being as strong as she is.

She's all alone now. In that big house I was mostly raised in. Her husband is dead, I'm and adult and moved out, my mother only showed up when it was convenient in her head..I felt bad. I should talk to her more. I love her and I appreciate everything she has done for me more than she'll ever know; even if I'm a pain in the ass.

I don't talk to her as much as I should based on the fact that I just forget; it's a shitty thing. I know. But it also just brings up too much for me. I know she didn't do anything to hurt me; she never would. I just don't like to be brought up of the things that happened to me, the things I had to fake and lie about to her face because I was afraid she would hate me like Uncle D said. Seeing her face was just a reminder of all the things I did wrong. I ruined her marriage.

I didn't mean to, I didn't have much of a choice. She knew that, but that didn't change the fact that it was a shitty thing on my part. It was my fault.

I was young, stupid, and didn't know what I was doing. It started when I was probably 8, that I could remember anyway. But it wasn't until I was 11 and fully moved in with my Aunt that it really got out of hand.

I blame myself everyday for letting it happen. I should have said something. But I never did. It was my fault.

He often told me it was too. That I did things to him on purpose and that's why it had to happen, I owed him.

I didn't even have the fucking balls to tell my Aunt myself. She had to find out when she physically walked in on my 14 year old self touching him while we were watching a movie.

She wasn't mad. Not at me. But after that night he was forced to sleep on an air mattress in the basement. I don't think they ever talked after, and that was because of me.

When the news broke that he was dying, and didn't have long. I was happy. All the shit he put me through, the nights of me sitting terrified with a flashlight in my hand; forcing myself to stay awake so he wouldn't come in, but I knew there was nothing I could do about it if he did. It provided me comfort knowing I had the light, and that it somehow protected me from the darkness I felt when he was done with me. The darkness I always felt.